


Chapter Sixty-Five: Unite Us All

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [66]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Escape, Gen, Medical Trauma, Other, Resistance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4326555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> «  ninety-sixteen » </i><br/>The order to execute is given, but the <i>Lost Light</i> crew won't roll over that easily. And the forty-two in Shuttle Bay Eleven, with nothing else to lose, throw their chits in with the one mech who may be able to get them out of their predicament.<br/>That is, if Trailcutter can get past his self doubt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Sixty-Five: Unite Us All

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Song: "Unite Us All" by Spektralized, from _In Between The Opposite_

Shuttle Bay Eleven  
_Lost Light  
_ Now

  
"How many fingers am I holding up?" Hoist asked. 

Sunstreaker stared at the engineer's hand, displaying three digits. "One," the warrior groused, extending his middle finger of his right hand. 

Hoist vented a frustrated breath. "I'm trying to help here."

"Want to help? Patch me up for round two. That'll help."

"Ease up on the throttle, 'Streaker," Trailcutter ordered. "We've been overpowered. Up to Rodimus now."

"Oh, great." The yellow and black mech threw his hands in the air. "This is the guy who had a temper tantrum when he found out Thunderclash was on the same quest as us." A beat. "In front of Thunderclash. And the crew of Vis Vitale. And the entire lot of us." Now a chuckle. "Situation normal."

"Besides," Hoist added, "you've overextended both shoulder joints, your left knee's blown out, you're coolant-deficient — I can hear your heat sinks screaming even now — and you were red-lining too long; you've blown a piston and a couple of spark plugs. You may also have a concussion. And that's the things I can find on a cursory glance. We can't get to medibay, so we have to rely on what we've got. Best thing we can do right now is sit tight and wait this out. Good news is that we're only under arrest."

"'Only'!" Grapple cried out, burying his face into his hands.

"Really isn't all that special," Smokescreen shrugged. "Most of the time it's post bail, wait for your court date, get sentenced, and hope the community service you did between events impresses the judge."

"Yep, pretty much," Cavalier agreed. "Though what interests me is that if the 'criminal' — Doc quotes — wasn't Art we were harbouring, then who?"

"Whirl?" half the present Autobots suggested unanimously. 

"Except he's moonside with Rodimus." Trailcutter reminded. "Why bother with us if that was the case?"

"Ammo and Atomizer? Petty thugs," Hound brooded, ignoring Atomizer's protest in the back. "Jackpot: illegal booking, organising unsanctioned fights. Smokescreen: use of a cheating device and general cheating at gambling. Lancet: medical negligence by ways of inexperience; suspended license to practice unless supervised. The only ones with serious convictions are Whirl and Artemis, major being attempted murder on Whirl's part, arms smuggling and bootlegging — "

"We were at war!" Artemis reminded, muffled against Trailcutter's shoulder.

"Well, that's our excuse," Cavalier reminded. "Whirl? He's just a gashole."

"Okay, so it wasn't any of us present, then," Hound held up his hand to stop any more discussion. "So what we do know: Magnus is dying, his body's missing. Another enforcer of the Tyrest Accord is on board, searching for a criminal we didn't know we were harbouring."

"Cyclonus?" Atomizer suggested.

"We're not speculating that right now," Hound reminded. "Now, we have to build our case."

Smokescreen, his shoulder patched and bleeding staunched, sat up with a groan, drawing the triage kit Grapple had been using on him. Opening the case, he pulled out a canteen of medical-grade energon. "Hey, 'Cutter," he beckoned, sliding the cannister across the floor. "You look thirsty."

Trailcutter met the Praxian's gaze, then looked down at the canteen against his leg. Smokescreen, like many of his comrades from their tour of Earth, were slow to pick up his new designation, and either called him by his old name or a variant thereof.

The switch was a clue.

Jackpot knew a gamble when he saw one. He unhitched his flask under his hip-plating and tossed it in after the canteen. 

Hound caught onto Smokescreen's scheme. "Everyone, listen: likely they're going to make us march in formation once they get the order. We may have to carry our wounded, so if anyone has energon to spare to those running reserves but are otherwise mobile, I encourage you to do so. Those wounded and unable to mobilise on your own power, just rest; we've got your backs."

Huffer tossed his canteen into the growing pile next to Trailcutter, as did Gears, after a lengthy tirade about his head wound.  
Optics offline, Artemis tapped Trailcutter's shoulder, but kept her head down as though sleeping. _Playing unconscious?_ He leaned down as though to ease her into a more comfortable position.

Against his helm, she whispered, "Jailbreak."

_Oh._

He worried his bottom lip, then glanced at his left palm. It still hurt, blackened, with the clear-coat flaking away. 

Forty two — maybe more — mechs were now placing their hope in him.

_Not me._

"If only we could get to medibay to treat these injuries," Hoist suggested, darting his gaze to his roommate and cocking a brow.

 _Not you too, Hoist!_

"Fortify medibay," Artemis mouthed. "Only chance."

_Please, both of you...._

Word had spread, and more placed their votes of dissension.

 _You didn't ask me what I thought!_

_This was the asking._ The canteens and flasks, some standard rations, others engex of varying quality, added to the medical grade energon...they were asking him, not for his opinion, but _please, you may be our only chance...._

Trailcutter scanned the others, searching for anyone worse off than he, who could use at least the medical grade more than he. 

_I'm two quarts low...._

"Art, you should have some," he coaxed, but received no response as her head slipped off his shoulder and against his chest. Panic clutched his throat. "Hoist? Might need an assist here...."

Keeping an optic on their wardens, Hoist darted across the room to where his roommate sat. Checking the black and chrome mech's vitals, Hoist eased Artemis into his arms. "She's in recharge, 'Cutter. Nothing more. I've got her; you need your strength." Picking up the medical-grade, he offered it to Trailcutter, his optics wide in apology.

The specialist took the proffered canteen and popped the top. _There's no other way. If it comes to us or them...._

 _They're banking a lot on me._ He tipped back, draining the bland fuel.

"Let me see your hands," Hoist suggested, taking an antiseptic spray from the kit. As he administered the spray, he whispered, "We have a better chance defending medibay, and we've got five mechs in need of transfusions. I know it hurts, but — "

"I'll do it," Trailcutter nodded, tossing the now empty canteen and picking up the next. _If anything, to buy us more time —_

_— wait. Hoist called me 'Cutter._ He was not the only one who picked up that the drones missed him, and Smokescreen, while playing the flake on the surface, used it to transmit a message: Hound and Artemis had figured out they were being arrested under a Cybertronian-based accord, and while he changed his name less than a stel ago, it had only been a ship-wide change...

...the Tyrest drones, with access to Cybertronian records, would have processed him as Trail _breaker_.

_I see what you did there, Smokey._

The antiseptic spray did help his hands, a local analgesic relieved some of the tightness and burning. He could at least move his fingers, albeit stiffly. 

By the third canteen, Trailcutter assessed the immediate situation. Weapons were in the centre, guarded by two drones. Three others were walking the perimeter of the shuttle bay, and two were guarding the door. The processing drone's attention was focused on the datapad in its hand. All armed.

The two in the centre first. Trailcutter glanced over at Inferno, who met his optics. A slight lift of his head to the drone closest; Inferno nodded, understanding. Second drone. Grapple was doing rounds, checking sustained injuries, with Hound, hands out and in front to show he was unarmed, following. When they passed, Trailcutter caught the current third-in-command's gaze, held it, pointing with his chin to the second drone. Hound returned his attention to Grapple, but nodded.

Medibay was on the same level as shuttle bay eleven — whether kismet or planned when the heavies and Brainstorm claimed it for weapons testing was never addressed but often speculated — and five hundred metres from their position. Half a klick through enemy troops.

_Think, think, think._

"Call Hound over," Trailcutter muttered into the fourth container. 

"Hound, we should assign carriers for the wounded," Hoist suggested aloud. 

Breaking from Grapple with a clap on the caution yellow Autobot's shoulder, Hound approached, kneeling before Hoist, keeping his hands visible for their captors to see. 

As Hoist made suggestions in a normal volume, Trailcutter explained the situation, hushed. "We're gonna need a tight formation, warriors outside, wounded inside, and we're gonna have to be quick. Once we bolt, they're gonna know what we're doing."

"Let's hope they can't problem solve," Hound whispered, keeping his optics on Hoist. 

"Let's hope I can hold a field over forty-two mechs for five hundred metres," Trailcutter grumbled, tossing down number five, from the taste, moonshine Jackpot had won from Swerve for a bet that the bartender couldn't stay silent for five cycles (he lasted twenty-five clicks.) 

"Anyone can do it, you can," Cavalier bumped his shoulder. "C'mon, cheering squad needs a cheering squad." Darted to the other side of Trailcutter, between him and Hoist. "How's boss lady?"

"Let her rest," Hoist chided, gently nudging the Minibot aside. "Check on Smokescreen to see if he needs help."

"Do we have a signal?" Trailcutter questioned Hound.

_< <Ninety-sixteen.>>_

"That's a new one," Grapple observed.

The drones at the perimeter halted, turned inward as one unit, and readied their firearms.

"Good enough a signal as any!" Hound shouted, diving for the stockpile with Inferno following suit as Trailcutter slammed up the shield. 

"Everyone close in!" the specialist bellowed, as the two inner guards were dispatched, Hound's with a well-aimed shot from Artemis's Heaven, Inferno forgoing weapons for fists, bludgeoning his opponent's face in. Bullets from the drones outside the field ricocheted, pings against the bulkhead. 

Those Autobots still fit to fight dove for their weapons as those assigned to carry detail grabbed their charges.

"I can walk, dammit!" Sunstreaker snarled, shrugging off Atomizer's aid.

"We need to run!" Hound snapped. "Go! Go! Go!"

 

*

Luna One  
Control Room

**—//ERROR?**  
**011100100110010101100010011011110110111101110100011010010110111001100111**  
**-//REBOOTING... _**  
**0110000101101110011000010110110001111001011100110110100101110011**  
**-//ANALYSIS..._**  
**-//...**  
**-//...**  
**-//COMPLETE.**  
**-//ORIGINAL SHELL PROGRAM: ONLINE**

 

He would have issued a curse, but such an exclamation was beneath him.

Instead, he settled on a mild "Damn."

Consciousness had returned to his original, irreducible shell, and now he was staring at the internal circuits and systems. Head module had been destroyed, thus rendering the release trigger inoperable. 

"Damn." Repeating the same oath...unprecedented. But this was an unprecedented predicament.

Manual override, then.

With just enough room to ratchet his arm back, he at the inner casing, the crunch of metal echoing in his audio receptors.

Three more strikes, each giving more room to manoeuvre, and he broke through.

By the time he pulled away from his outer shell, he was covered in congealing energon and — 

**-//ERROR?**  
**0111000001100001011101000110100001101111011001110110010101101110**  
**-//PATHOGEN**  
**01100011011011110110111001110100011000010110110101101001011011100110000101110100011010010110111101101110**  
**-//CONTANIMATION**  
**-//SYSTEM LOCK EMINENT**  
**-//CONTAMINATION**

His system warnings overrode the background noise, of which he had heard Rodimus arguing with Tyrest.

An unprecedented, thrice-occurring "Damn" escaped as he battled between tending to his system alerts and coming to his captain's aid.

This did not go according to protocol.

Tyrest had gone mad.

Because Skids shot him with a nudge gun and didn't remember doing it.

Thought warfare.

Section Nineteen, Subparagraph Eighty, Paragraph Four.

_Focus on the facts._

The facts.

 _Tyrest has abandoned you. The one source of law, of order, gone._

_All you have now is ..._

He wiped at his arms, his face, in attempts to shake away the drying energon, the sensation of pathogens crawling into his joints summoning shudders through his frame.

_Keep it together — your captain needs you!_

_Your captain...your captain did not abandon you._

_Make your choice. Prove your loyalty._

**-//CONTAMINATION**  
**-//SYSTEM LOCK EMINENT**  
**-//IMMOBILISATION EMINENT**

Crashing to his knees, then his side, he fought to regain motor skills. This was not normal protocol, especially for pathogen contamination.

_You cannot move! Why can't you move? Illogical — fight the illogic! Nothing is wrong with your systems! Move!_

An alert bleated from the terminal in front of him; he had little choice to view the screen, as he could not deviate his gaze. A running list of arrested individuals from the _Lost Light_ streamed, categorised into threat levels. Current mug shots had been submitted with those repeat offenders, added to older photos to update the database. All had the seventeen-twenty-one conviction; thirty-seven labelled "Moderate" were repeat offenders to petty crimes and misdemeanours.

"Moderate-High" initially had two: Cavalier racked up an impressive yet unsurprising sixteen convictions, the majority in data theft and petty larceny; and Artemis, highlighting the theft and desecration of holy and/or culturally significant artifacts. Both had been convicted of Section Twenty-Four, Subsection Nine, trafficking contraband. Artemis's current mugshot was...gruesome, without exaggeration, with two nasty gashes across her face, distorted by a challenging grin; her left arm had been shone from her shoulder. 

_Far be it for a Wrecker to surrender even under impossible odds._

What stood out was a new charge on the former Wrecker squad leader's card: Apostate. A quick review of the other cards revealed another troubling revelation: all had a charge with religious undertones. Heathen. Heretic. Lapsed. Deviant.

Two more joined the Moderate-High, both with AT LARGE alerts: Cyclonus, with crimes against creation during his time as Galvatron's second, and Whirl, whose twenty-seven assaults and batteries on top of one attempted murder conviction overshadowed Cavalier's hacking-related warrants.

Prior to the terminal alert, only one was categorised under "High": Skids, Thought Warfare. Apostate. 

What had set the alarm was another "High" threat, as forty-one other cards lit up with AT LARGE, the final addition and last crew member to be processed. 

Surprise was not a common emotion, but the new mugshot of Trailcutter — _Trailbreaker_ , as by the card, depicting him surrounded by more than two dozen other mechs, out of focus — did bring pause. In part that, yes, this was Trailcutter, whose most serious offence while on board was public intoxication. 

The list of charges under his name was...disquieting. 

And old. Over four million stels old. Pre-Clampdown old. Petty crimes such as vagrancy, loitering, and the aforementioned public intoxication, paled in the shadow of one charge of arson, fourteen accounts of destruction of public property valued at over ten thousand shanix for each account, and sixteen accounts of murder of a public official — 

_— what?_

Crisp, overpowering ozone struck olfactory sensors, accompanied by screams, voices Minimus Ambus recognised.  
Rodimus was shouting, cursing, screaming, pleading. 

Killswitch.

_Tyrest had activated the killswitch!_

 

*

Two hundred and fifty metres to Medibay  
_The Lost Light_  
Twenty-Five Cycles Ago

"C'mon, everyone! We're almost there!" Trailcutter shouted; he had reverted to vehicle mode, concentrating his field in front of them against the press of drones. "We're making progress! We're going to need a big push!"

Inferno, also in alt mode, laid down fire cover behind them as Hound and Atomizer picked off stragglers. 

"We should have stayed where we were!" Huffer whined, in vehicle as well; Sunstreaker had begrudgingly admitted he was having difficulty with his knee and now sat atop of the Minibot, facing behind with Cavalier's rail gun against his shoulder and sniping any drone he could lay a bead on. Bob kept pace with Huffer, his hackle plating rising in agitation.

"Keep complaining, I'm reloading," the yellow and black Autobot snarked.

"On top of my clutch slipping, and I think I smell my transmission fluid smoking...." Gears added, carrying an unconscious Dipstick.

"Just like old times, eh, Hoist?" Grapple chirped, with Smokescreen in a firemech carry.

"Except we were never hunted down in enclosed corridors by a legion of drones hellbent on our execution," Hoist chided; he had Artemis in a similar hold. "How're you holding up, Trailbreaker?"

"Great! We're going to make it, just a few more metres!" 

"He's not, is he?" Artemis muttered into Hoist's audio receptor. 

"His hand projectors blew out a cycle or two ago," the engineer admitted quietly, catching her weakened gaze in his peripheral. "Hence why he's in vehicle mode and we have a rear guard. He didn't admit it, of course." Bringing his optics forward, he kept in step with Grapple, ahead of him. "You're not the only one watching his back, Art. We're a tight-knit unit. We watch out for one another. Hound's the one who made the call for the rear guard so Trailbreaker could conserve power and concentrate on the front."

Her arm tightened its hold around his shoulder. "Did we make a bad call?"

"They were going to execute us, Art. You tell me if we made a bad call."

"Medibay's in sight!" Trailcutter announced. "Could use some guns in the front...!"

Jackpot and Slapdash answered the call, taking up either side of the specialist. 

"We'll need to override the medibay lock," Hound ordered.

"You should have those codes!" Sunstreaker countered.

"Orientation was 'Hey, Hound, you're the new third. Go to the bridge and meet up with Max.' That's as far as I got."

"Pfft. That's why you got me," Cavalier bragged, bolting to the front, Artemis's pistol in a two-handed grip, comically large against her smaller frame. "Ain't a door on board this ship I can't hack." 

"Note to self: discuss beefing up door protocols with Max and Mainframe," Hound muttered. Louder, he ordered, "'Breaker, you got enough power for a large one-eighty field until we can get in the medibay?"

"If Cav can get the door open in ten clicks!"

"I can do it in five," Cavalier chortled.

"Good, 'cause we're coming up on it!" 

"Warriors, external perimeter! Slapdash, Jackpot, door duty!" Hound ordered.

Cavalier dropped her right arm holding the hand gun and tapped at the locking mechanism; before she hit the combination, the door hissed; she immediately brought Heaven to bear. "I didn't open it!" she shouted.

"Friendly!" Landmine shouted, pulling the barrel his RPG launcher up, backing away to allow the others in. "Lancet, we've got more wounded!"

"Where's First Aid and Ambulon?" Hound demanded as Hoist helded with coordinating intake.

"Taken by those gold drones," Landmine reported, closing the door once Trailcutter darted in. "No reason, other than likely they're trying to cut us off from medical aid."

"Anyone in critical condition? Take them into the OR!" Lancet hesitated. "I'd like to remind you guys I had my license revoked, I'm about as useful as a ward nurse!"

"Ambulon was pretty damn useful, so get to work!" Hound snapped. "Field medics, it's your show!"

"Lancet, handle OR intake; if you can't stabilise them, induce stasis." Hoist set Artemis into an intake chair, next to Powerglide, who was missing a leg. "Huffer, bring Sunstreaker over here—"

"I can stand!" Sunstreaker protested.

"Gears, take Dipstick into the OR; Grapple, Smokescreen, here — "

Trailcutter returned to root mode, cradling his hands against his chest. Hoist pointed to where Artemis and Smokescreen were sitting; Sunstreaker, in protest, stood against the wall behind the Iaconian and Praxian, arms crossed over his chest and favouring his busted knee. Bob laid on the floor by his feet, worrying a drone head in his smaller set of hands.

As Hoist gave instructions on triage, Trailcutter sunk to the floor next to Artemis. "You good?" he whispered.

She responded by draping her arm over his shoulder. "Medibay doors are dwarven-forged or some slag. Damn fine job, love."

"Smokey's idea," Trailcutter countered, bringing his hand up to touch her arm; his fingers were curled, locked around his blackened palms. "And did you just make a Cavalier reference?"

"Be thankful for whoever made this ship thinking it important that the medibay should be the most reinforced defencive position." Hoist tossed Grapple a triage kit from the lockers. "Stabilise, then treat. Slapdash, give him a hand. Anyone else with EMT training, we can use all the help we can get!"

"How many are held up here?" Hound questioned Landmine.

"Excluding faders in stasis, twenty-seven, but only twelve of us are fully functional." 

As Landmine explained the situation in the medibay to Hound, Artemis beckoned "Brat!" With her current energy levels, the ordered was less of a bark and more of a croak. 

Still, Cavalier came forward, Heaven in downward carry. "Here, boss lady!"

"Ratchet's office; there should be a hard-wire line to the bridge. Try to make contact."

"On it!" 

"And Cav?" Artemis stared up at the ceiling. "Upper right hand drawer of Ratchet's desk. Hack the lock and bring me my flask."

"On it — hey, anyone else hear that?" 

"A kind of crackling sound?" Smokescreen observed.

Gears scratched at his helm. "Great, now I hear it — is something burning?"

As though someone threw a switch, the snap of an electrical discharge, and half the Medibay occupants screamed in agony.

 **NEXT CHAPTER:** Under The Flag


End file.
